


We Are Alive, It's the Best Feeling

by happytappyteen



Series: The Adventures of Alderson, Tarantino, and Etc. [1]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Biracial Character, Bisexual Male Character, Copious References to Logic and Joey Bada$$, Friends to Lovers, Gay Male Character, Jewish Character, M/M, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:37:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happytappyteen/pseuds/happytappyteen
Summary: The booth thief appears to be a man in his late twenties. Leon’s face-blind, autistic ass can’t catch a good look at the details, but he’s thin and white, with wiry glasses and big hands and tightly-curling brown hair, and - holy shit - he’s wearing a Seinfeld tee shirt under an open red hoodie. It’s just like the one Leon used to have as a teenager (for the hell of it, because hey, back then he hadn’t even seen the show yet).





	1. I Just Wanna Make These Music Lovers Remember Again

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to my buddy and inspiration PJ @fruit-lesbian on Tumblr. I owe you big time, thanks for reading and contributing your thoughts and words.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr too @bi—logical. Come say hi!

Two and a half years post 5/9, and Leon has long since finished his 90s television marathon. Now it's onto the early 2000s. He holds his hand out silently for the joint and smiles as Elliot passes it, their fingers brushing, the screen glowing bright with primary and secondary color as the _Teen Titans_ theme song floats through the smoke-hazy, stoned, sleepy air. Leon takes a drag slowly and breathes out much the same way, grinning at Elliot and pressing his hip to his thigh teasingly. His voice is low, shot and raspy already, but he knows Elliot doesn't mind - hell, even likes it.

“I'm hungry, cuz. How about I go grab lunch? You can stay here and chill, and I'll bring some home for you.” He moves slowly as he puts out the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table, not wanting to break the lazy, relaxed vibe.

Elliot nods, smiling just a little, green eyes glazed over with the high like marbles, and Leon feels a surge of affection blooming warm in his chest. “Sure.”

Leon pulls on a leather jacket and an orange scarf over his tee shirt, then a knit cap, looking back at Elliot in the doorway. Sure, it's December, but he's always had body heat to spare - fortunately for his boyfriend. “You text me if you need something - or if Cyborg pulls any bullshit, dig?”

“Okay. Leon?”

“Mm?”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, cuz.”

*

“Christopher Street - Sheridan Square,” drones the slightly muffled robotic voice from the subway speakers - Leon's wearing headphones so as to drown out a little of the overwhelming noise. He stands, stretches, and in three long strides crosses the subway car out into the station. From there it's an easy walk to Monk’s - no, Tom’s - Restaurant. His stomach grumbles at the thought of food, and his fingers itch to flap at the thought of sitting in the same restaurant in which George and Jerry and Elaine had once sat; all in all, the easy walk turns into a run. He keeps away from the curb so he jostles as few people as possible, and somehow it works. When he comes in and settles into a booth with a sigh, it feels like home away from home.

Traditionally, Leon takes the booth closest to the door so he can people-watch - assuming, of course, that it's not already taken.

He stands just inside the door in disappointment, his routine broken for the day, maybe even the week. Whenever he comes here he always takes this booth, and squishes himself into the corner on the left side. It feels safe. He did everything else right - he woke up at exactly 8:30, kissed Elliot good morning, got dressed, made them coffee and toaster waffles, and smoked up together with Leon’s latest special interest playing on the TV, and now he’s here just like he is every alternating Monday, but he can’t have the seat, because someone is already sitting there, and it’s all come to nothing.

The booth thief appears to be a man in his late twenties. Leon’s face-blind, autistic ass can’t catch a good look at the details, but he’s thin and white, with wiry glasses and big hands and tightly-curling brown hair, and - holy shit - he’s wearing a _Seinfeld_ tee shirt under an open red hoodie. It’s just like the one Leon used to have as a teenager (for the hell of it, because hey, back then he hadn’t even seen the show yet). The eager tingling all the way down to his close-bitten fingernails comes back, and swells up in his throat threatening to burst with excitement - he needs to talk, and talk, and talk; hopefully the guy won’t mind. Elliot didn’t. Maybe he’ll understand and move to another seat, and Leon’s routine will be back on track. He clears his throat, quickly preparing a polite but firm script.

“Hey, bro, you mind maybe moving to the next table over? I usually sit here...uh, by the way, I love your shirt, _Seinfeld_ is -”

The man looks Leon’s way, finally, and Leon’s heart skips.

He’s certainly gotten taller since the summer after Leon's graduation, so the shirt he “borrowed” from Leon fits him better now. He no longer smells of cigarette smoke, and he’s grown a wisp of a mustache - it suits him; reminds Leon how much time has really passed since he’s last seen his high school boyfriend.

“Is - is it really you?” Leon’s voice cracks.

“Yes sir,” Bobby says, saluting playfully. He stands, daps Leon up, pulls him into a tight hug, and that, at least, hasn’t changed, nor has the soft steely blue of his eyes behind the wire eyeglass frames. “Where you been, boy?”

“Right here. I guess the city is too big for the both of us.”

“Well, no better time to catch up on the last twelve years than now…care to share?”

“Only if you move to the other side, my good bitch. I’ve always sat here and I won’t break the routine today.”

Bobby laughs, throwing his head back, and pulls away slowly. His hands remain on Leon’s shoulders - much less of a reach now. He might not have to stand on his toes anymore, but he still sounds as sweet as eighteen. “Now that’s a plan.”

*

Leon swears the room has gotten warmer, but maybe it's just that he gets to eat something hot, finally. It's plain old chicken tenders and fries, but hey, the steam is tempting enough on its own. He’d teased Bobby about ordering buffalo wings (for a half Black man, he could seldom tolerate spice; maybe that's the white half of him, but he was always a trooper anyway...when given them he ate like a champ), but ultimately it was of course just a joke, and as Bobby grips his BLT wrap across from him, Leon smiles. It's been too long.

"So what you up to these days, man? Rebound boyfriend?" Leon winks.

Bobby laughs, swallowing a bite of bacon and tortilla. "Nah. Single as of tonight, anyway. I’ll know when the right person comes along."  
"Right, Mr. Flexible Execution, is that what you call being bi these days...well, my man, I hope you find 'em. Truly."  
Something about that last part doesn't feel quite right, but they sit in comfortable silence with their food and each other's company for a few minutes until Bobby breaks it. "How about you? Life treating you well since your little...super spy heist?"  
Leon beams, bouncing in his seat a little. "Oh, yeah. My assignment, Elliot - well, past assignment - we dating now."

Bobby, who was in the middle of a tomato slice, is choking on it now. He holds up a reddening finger to signify he's fine, and after a few seconds he is - minus his wounded pride, but he laughs it off as usual. Leon loves that about him still. “Fellas, is it gay if you accidentally spit on your ex you haven't seen since you were eighteen?”

“Yes,” Leon deadpans, can't resist breaking into a smile maybe half a second later. He grabs Bobby’s forearm across the table affectionately, relaxing at the soft fabric of his hoodie.

Bobby's still a little flushed. Maybe it's that he almost died via tomato. “As much as I missed you, bro, I'd love to meet this man of yours. I ain't got nothing else to do all day and if I don't find something I'll be bored as hell. You mind if I catch a ride home with you?”

“Nah, nah, you cool, man. Elli might be spooked at first, but don't take it personally. He don't talk much in general, and he don't bite. I'm sure he’ll warm up to you real quick.”

“Sounds good.”

“Split an ice cream with me before we go?”

“In December? In Manhattan?” Bobby’s eyes go almost comically wide. “Hell no, bruh, where you think this is? Jamaica?”

“Shame it ain't.”

“But then you wouldn't have me.”

“I'd have my family.”

“Bitch, I am your family, don't fool me. Fuckin’ piranha eating ice cream, no way.” Bobby leaves the money on the table with the bill, paying no mind to Leon's teasing middle finger. He stands, giggling, and offers a hand. Leon takes it gratefully, squeezes, lets go as Bobby zips his hoodie and pulls up the hood, and then slides an arm around his skinny waist. It's familiar, and the subway home seems unusually, pleasantly quiet.

*

Elliot hears more than one voice in the hallway this time, and he stiffens. Is it some unknown alter talking to Leon, or a weed-induced hallucination? Before he even has time to get up and pace, the door opens.

Leon’s there, for starters, and at least physically unharmed. He wants to be wary of the man glued to his hip, but his big-toothed, slightly crooked smile, his dimples, and his big, soft-looking hands lead toward another conclusion entirely. That, and the way they touch and talk and laugh like they've known each other for a lifetime and then some.

And then Elliot realizes the guy’s hand is outstretched for him to shake. Elliot glues his eyes to the floor, uncertain, but the guy just laughs. It sounds nice, actually.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, letting his hand fall back to his side, where his long fingers dance as if playing an invisible piano. “I’m probably getting ahead of myself. You’re Elliot, right?”

Elliot nods. Leon must have told him about him.

“I’m Bobby. Leon and I used to date in high school. It’s nice to meet you, bro.”

Well, that explains the affection. Elliot’s already met one of Leon’s other amicable exes, Yusef, and his friends. They’ve all become, well, not extremely close, but nevertheless friendly, and he likes that it pleases Leon.

For Leon’s sake, at least, he looks up tentatively, and Bobby’s eyes are so startlingly blue and bright, so disarming, that Elliot feels the tension coiling in his spine ease immediately. Somehow, it’s not painful to keep contact for a few seconds, and Bobby’s small smile turns into an ear-to-ear grin. He bounces on his toes. “Oh, also, ya boy brought you home some chicken tenders and fries and shit.”

Elliot looks at Leon gratefully and steps forward to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, taking the takeout box into the kitchenette to microwave. Leon's cheerful conversation with Bobby can be heard faintly over the electrical hum of the microwave. Elliot smiles as he watches the timer count down to zero, second by second, not even tense in preparation for the loud beeping.

“So I’m here, I met ya boy...what now?” Bobby asks.

Leon roars, quite like his namesake, with laughter. “‘What now,’ boy? Now we do whatever the fuck we want. Take a seat, bitch, get comfy. You like _Seinfeld_?”

“Bro, I hope that was a joke...you started talking to me today ‘cause you saw my - yes, my, it's not yours anymore - shirt.”

A soft rustling sound, like fabric shifting against fabric, and then leather squeaking as they presumably flop down onto the couch. “Don't worry about it.”

Just then the microwave beeps. Elliot takes his meal out, grabs the bottle of ketchup from the fridge, and settles on the couch next to Leon, who has one arm around Bobby, and now the other one around him, warm and safe. Elliot sighs, puts his meal on the coffee table, grabs a fry before leaning back against Leon's chest with his eyes closed. How many times has he fallen asleep like this?

“We’re not watching _Seinfeld,_ ” Elliot mumbles, even though they all know that at this rate he'd be sleeping like a rock throughout the whole thing.

And so it is. As Elliot dozes off, Leon wastes no time in getting his second joint of the day rolled and lit, and doesn’t miss the way Bobby licks his lips in his peripheral vision - he laughs then, feeling pleasantly lightheaded already. Bobby had always said Leon “looked good as fuck” when he lit up.

He offers Bobby the first hit and smiles as he accepts, watching the subtle but ever-present tension ease from the wiry muscle of his back, watching his eyes gradually become as clouded as the room around them, filled with heavy blue smoke. Leon yawns, burying the sound into the crown of Elliot’s head.

Bobby smiles, one end of his mouth tipping up crooked, almost lazy as he exhales through his teeth. “You know, Elliot hella cute when he sleep like that.” He motions to the small back breathing steadily on Leon’s chest.

“Oh, so you and my man on first name basis now, huh?” Leon teases. “You gotta go through me first.”

“I’ve already been in you, bruh. Shouldn’t be too hard…”

“Fuck off.” A laugh bubbles up in Leon’s chest and then he and Bobby are giggling uncontrollably, and he gasps when Bobby buries his face into the crook of Leon’s neck to muffle it. He feels so, so warm and he’s so fucking high and it feels like senior year again.

“You still got my number in ya phone?” Bobby murmurs once he’s relatively calm.

“‘Course I do, bro. Got your virginity too, try me.”

“I missed you.” It’s too sincere to reply to with a witty remark this time. Bobby’s eyes have softened and he looks ready to drift off himself.

“Stay a while longer?” Leon whispers.

“Yeah. Can I come again?”

“...’Course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Intro by Logic.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJAUMIvTXF4


	2. Turn My Brain Up a Wavelength

Leon works part-time at a small computer repair shop in Brooklyn, where he was born and raised. It’s not a half-bad job, and sometimes he finds he even enjoys it - he can be in his element without hurting people, no guns or knives or bloodshed or suppressing hurt or worsening trauma because Dark Army soldiers don’t have emotions. He shudders sometimes at the thought still...but no use in dwelling on the past; focus on the now. Now, he can help people and earn some cash to support him and his boy and their crib and their pets and well, everything else he loves. The only downside is that leaves Elliot essentially alone half of the weekdays, so he makes sure to hold Elliot a little longer as he wakes those mornings.

This Bobby knows, has learned from their constant texting in the almost-two-week period since their reunion. And he knows all too well the ache of cold loneliness as he once slept on the streets of Manhattan - doesn’t wish it on no one. So like any good future best man would do, he dials the number Leon gave him and waits patiently for Elliot to pick up.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is low and rough, presumably from sleep, but it’s...not unpleasant.

“Elliot, this is you, right? It’s Bobby. Leon gave me your number.”

“Ah.” A long pause. The guy really doesn’t talk much. “Uh...sorry, but why are you calling me, man?”

Bobby smiles and begins to pace, fingers dancing at his hip. “Mm, I know Leon’s at work today and I don’t want you all by your lonesome all day, uh? How’d you like to chill with me, bro?”

“Um. Depends where we're going. I don't like crowds.”

“That's okay, I feel you. If you want, it'll be just you and me at my place. That sound good?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Bobby smiles. “You have my number now, bro, so I'll text you the address. The subway will get you most of the way there, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.” Elliot hangs up. Bobby chuckles. He's a strange little dude, and he likes that.

He sets about tidying up half-heartedly - the apartment and himself, taking a quick shower and pulling on a pair of jeans and a thinning white tee shirt that used to be Leon's. He absolutely does not think about Elliot while he's in there. And even if he does it wouldn't matter because Elliot is Leon's heart. It just means he thinks too much; he has the medication to prove it, and alongside a bowl of Cheerios he takes his cocktail of Adderall, Zoloft, Buspar, and Prozac with a glass of water before he forgets. _Specially educated, heavily medicated,_ Leon had always said about their combined plethora of diagnoses, including autism. _Nothing to be ashamed of, cuz. We different, you and I, but we understand each other, y’know?_

Bobby grins at the thought, wishing Leon weren’t busy today. He’d get to hang out with both of them, but one is still better than none - and so he sits and waits.

After about ten more minutes, there’s a knock at the door and Doc is there with his bumblebee squeaky toy in his mouth before Bobby can cross the room on legs much longer than the fucking corgi’s. He can’t help but laugh at the sight: his dog looking up at him eagerly awaiting an open door with his big brown eyes, all while blocking the way. “Better move, li’l shorty, we have company.” He nudges Doc gently out of the way with a socked foot and turns the knob.

It appears that Elliot wears almost the exact same outfit every single day, year round, even in the frigid New York winter: black hoodie, dark jeans, combat boots, and a weary expression, but he offers Bobby a small smile in greeting. Bobby has to admire his apparent tolerance for the cold, as well as how good he looks in black.

“Hey man, what’s up?” He offers Elliot a hand and is pleasantly surprised when he takes it this time, trying not to let it show on his face - he feels his cheeks burning. “Hope you like dogs.”

“I have a dog myself,” Elliot says quietly, smiling. “Flipper. Vet told me she’s a Cairn terrier.”

“Aw, shit, man!” Bobby hops on the balls of his feet. “I love small dogs, see - this is Doc, well, Emmett, really, but I call him Doc -”

“No fucking way.”

“Mm?”

“You - you like _Back to the Future_ too?”

Bobby grins, figuring it’s safe to let loose a little bit around this guy, and flaps his right hand excitedly. “Yes! Yes yes yes! More broadly I like all three of them, but I think the second one is my favorite -”

“My guy, I meant you like them also, sorry -”

“Aw, shit! You’re good, I miss double meanings sometimes, that’s on me.” Suddenly he realizes he’s still gripping Elliot’s hand and makes to apologize -

Elliot beats him to it. “It’s okay, man. You always ask first.”

Something inside Bobby says to squeeze his hand. He does, and leads him into the hallway. “C’mon. Wanna show you something.”

*

Bobby’s room is deceptively spotless. The floors are clean and the bed made, but his clothes are shoved unfolded and wrinkled into his closet and dresser drawers. From his bizarre position with his torso under the bed and legs sticking out, busy at work on a Rubik’s cube, his voice comes out muffled. He’s so fucking high, the first and second joints already decomposing in the ashtray. “See, Elliot,” he says, sticking a hand out to gesture to the space around him, “this is what happens when you put combined type ADHD and OCD in the same fuckin’ brain…mix in a sprinkle of depression, a dash of anxiety, a handful of PTSD and autism to boot…and you get this bitch.” He laughs. “But hey, I’m getting better...moving on up...slowly but surely. Smoking them trees doesn’t hurt neither…all in moderation.”

Elliot nods, then remembers Bobby can’t see him. “Uh-huh.”

“Ay, bruh,” he drawls, patting the space next to him. “Come take a load off in here.”

Feeling more than a little awkward, Elliot lowers himself to his hands and knees and crawls into the small, dark space under Bobby’s bed, lays down on his back next to him after a moment of hesitation, slowly, stoned. It feels right somehow. They’re weightless, the only two people in the world here, and the only light is the butt of the joint as Bobby takes a pull, his blue eyes glowing hazily with the golden light.

Bobby points at the poster of Michael J. Fox taped just above their heads. “Had dude up here since I was ten...for uh, recreational purposes.” He winks. “Let’s just say he made me realize I was into dudes.”

Elliot nods, lightheaded, and Bobby grins.

“You too, eh? Not bad looking at all. Seems we have similar taste; Leon's always liked boyfriends he could carry bridal style.”

Elliot laughs, imagining Leon with a playfully protesting Bobby’s long, skinny limbs spilling out of his arms. It surprises them both. Elliot listens contentedly as Bobby winds himself up like a Tomy toy Darlene had as a kid and goes on a long tangent about the real-life physics of time travel and how he would use them, finally fading out talking about something entirely different but nevertheless entertaining: the nostalgia of the 1980s.

“All three of us was born then, I think,” Bobby explains, looking at Elliot for confirmation and continuing at his “yeah”. “Leon don’t relate, see, he too busy dick-riding that 90s shit, which is why I’m glad I got you now. You come over anytime you want and we can play Atari or something.” He squeezes Elliot’s shoulder, exhaling with an air of finality.

Safe. Warm. Elliot, Bobby, and a solved Rubik’s cube and Bobby’s glasses laying forgotten between them. He rolls over onto his side, watching smoke hit the underside of the mattress and dissipate. He realizes suddenly that Bobby’s abandoned his shirt, thrown it carelessly out onto the floor, and, well, it is getting warm...Elliot doesn’t blame him. He tentatively removes his jacket and sets it aside as Bobby stretches his arms up above his head and yawns. Elliot does not watch the upward tilt of his hips as he adjusts his position lazily and closes his eyes, passing the joint. His fingers do not shake as he takes it and inhales, not thinking about how Bobby's lips were just there, and he most definitely does not stifle a groan as Bobby turns to look at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Look like you finna fall asleep, bro. I’d put it out if I were you.”

Elliot nods and gets up numbly with his joints creaking in protest - doesn't bother to rise from his hands and knees until he has to stand on shaky legs to reach the ashtray. He can feel Bobby's drowsy gaze burning through him even across the room, if that indicates how high he is.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. A text from Leon.

< _Off work cuz > _

_ <Want me to come get you?> _

Elliot pauses to glance back at Bobby's silhouette under the bed, evidently dozing off. It'd probably be best not to overstay the welcome, anyway. He scribbles a note and sticks it to Bobby's bedroom door, then waits for Leon on the living room couch with Doc sitting at his feet.

_Had a good time. Leon came to get me. Really hope to see you again soon. - E_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Devastated by Joey Bada$$.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLnA25dVzrQ


	3. Follow Me to Paradise

“So,” Leon teases, straddling Elliot and leaning down to kiss his throat. “Bobby tells me y’all got awful cozy the other day...I'm jealous.”

Elliot freezes, tensing. Leon must sense it, because his expression softens and he squeezes Elliot's thighs and rubs slowly, making Elliot sigh and tip his head back.

“I was just fucking with you, babe,” he whispers. “Don't you worry, I knew you was gonna bond with him - shit, it's inevitable you bond over someone as cool as me.”

Elliot rolls his eyes affectionately, tipping his head up to meet Leon's lips in a kiss; it's slow, almost too soft, just like the first time - that is, until Leon presses him back into the arm of the couch and pushes a groan out of him.

“There it is,” Leon murmurs, sliding a warm, gentle hand up and down Elliot's thigh. “We’re good, baby. I trust you and I trust Bobby with my life. I just wanna get in on some of that cuddle action next time, get me?” He laughs and Elliot melts.

“Sure.”

“Speaking of, he invited me over to make up for having work last time, you wanna come along?”

“Mhm.” Elliot feels a surge of warmth. He's becoming quite fond of Bobby, and his feelings for Leon require no further explanation - being surrounded by them both feels good in a way he hasn't felt since he was a kid.

“Aight.” Leon grins, grinding his hips into Elliot's just because he can, one last time. Or maybe he just likes to drive Elliot up the wall. “We can finish this later.”

Needless to say, Elliot is looking forward to that, but doesn't forget to live in the moment as Leon takes his hand and they walk to the subway station.

*

This time it appears Bobby didn't bother to get dressed today and is halfway through his fourth joint in a row, satisfied with the good first impression he made on Elliot; the key word is “appears”.

“Nah,” Leon chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “It's an inside joke between me and him. A tradition, if you will. Allow me to demonstrate.”

After toeing off his shoes at the door, Leon strips (unnecessarily slowly, and with copious winking) until he plops on the couch next to Bobby in only his binder, boxers, and knee-high socks. Bobby and Elliot exchange a glance, sure they're thinking the same thing. It appears Bobby never quite got over Leon.

“Why the socks?” Elliot ventures, sitting more carefully on Leon's other side.

“Bitch, don’t -”

“Bobby socks,” Bobby declares with a shit-eating grin, pulling the ends up past his knees. “I started it.”

“Motherfucking nerd.”

“Don't tell me you don't love it.” He laughs as Leon grumbles a “fuck you” and presses a kiss to his blushing cheek. It feels too intimate for Elliot to watch, like he's intruding. He glances instead at the TV. Bobby is about to start a round of Mario Kart. He grips the controller with one hand and with the other passes the joint to Leon, who takes a pull and shotguns Elliot, giggling.

And then Elliot coughs on the inhale, a thought suddenly occurring to him.”Do I - do I, uh -”

“Nah, cuz,” Leon murmurs, nipping at his jaw playfully. Thank goodness he's practically psychic. “It'd be a nice view for everyone here, but you ain't gotta strip if you don't want to.”

Elliot breathes out a sigh of relief and Leon shifts, settling between his thighs. “Now this,” he remarks, leaning his head back against Elliot's chest and closing his eyes, “this the best seat in the house...other present company included.”

Bobby snorts, slapping at Leon's bicep. “Hey!”

“I suppose you was pretty good too though, for a first-timer.”

“Shut up and watch me win, bro.”

*

Bobby doesn't just win; he absolutely smokes the artificial competition after his seventh blunt of the day, no pun intended. First place every time with good ol’ Golden Mario (which he pronounces “Marry-oh”), even on Rainbow Road. Needless to say, there is plenty joyful swearing afterwards as Leon lights the eighth and Bobby lays his curly head on Leon's thigh, dropping the controller with a satisfying clack.

“Y'all should stay over tonight,” Bobby says suddenly.

“We should,” Leon drawls, beaming, and Bobby gasps quietly when he runs his long fingers through his hair. “Man, your hair getting long.”

“It's getting to be more a lion’s mane than yours, Mr. Lion.”

“Excuse me, bitch, you knew me when I was sixteen and had an afro.”

“True.”

“Yours still impressive though. Once a pretty boy, always a pretty boy.”

Bobby smiles and reaches up to twist one of Leon's dreads around his thumb. “Go get your shit, bruh. We having a sleepover tonight.”

“And move this quality head from my leg? No chance.”

“Elliot, would you mind -”

“No problem.”

*

Bobby's almost asleep in Leon's lap when Elliot comes back with a duffel bag presumably full of toiletries and clean clothes, and a small blue box in his other hand. At this, Leon jumps up, leaves Bobby to jolt awake suddenly when his head hits the seat cushion. “Fuck!”

Leon laughs. “Get up, bitch, I have something for you too.”

Bobby swears under his breath. “Yeah, sure you - huh?”

Leon's kneeling at Bobby's feet, forehead almost pressing into his bare stomach. His eyes are warm black, the pupils barely discernible, like the void of sleep after a long day. Bobby feels his stomach, his whole being, falling…

“I got you some shit for Hanukkah. I know you ain't celebrate it, but -”

He opens the box. Inside is a tangle striped with three different shades of blue, a blue and white fidget cube, a metallic blue fidget spinner, and in the middle, a shining silver ring.

Bobby finds he can't speak.

“I know you need to keep ya hands busy.” He takes the ring and slides it onto Bobby's finger and glides a thumb over it. It spins surely and smoothly as the North Star is constant.

Bobby grips Leon by the hips and pulls him into a tight hug, and suddenly he's eighteen again and he just had their and his first kiss and he came in his pants because he didn't expect Leon to kiss _that_ good and they're laughing and…and.

He feels a tear run down his cheek and something deep inside him aches with warmth as he crumbles into Leon's chest.

Oh.

Oh God.

*

Elliot's pretty sure he intruded on something he wasn't meant to see earlier. Bobby’s eyes are bluer and his face redder after he's cried, and his dark golden curls spring up higher about his face, like a cloud of honey as he cooks with trembling fingers, one with a shining silver ring, his nose in the steam. He's a mess of primary color, like a kindergartner’s finger painting, and he's beautiful.

He's pretty sure Leon sees it too, and it almost makes him sick because he shouldn't be here. A stranger sitting next to his boyfriend at his friend’s kitchen table watching him boil noodles. Somehow even that's too intimate, too private. He excuses himself to the bathroom.

When Bobby, a thirty-year-old man, looks in the mirror, does he also see a child?

Does he care too much?

Is he in over his head?

There's a soft knock at the door just then.

“Come out whenever you're ready, Elliot,” Bobby says gently. “I made mac and cheese.”

They eat mostly in silence. Elliot doesn't like it; it surprises him how fond he's grown of just hearing them speak. He watches Leon sprinkle pepper onto his noodles, watches Bobby's long skinny legs as he gets up to refill his glass of Coke, and tries to ignore the painful heaviness in his chest. He wonders what happened between them all so suddenly. Or maybe, what should happen.

Considering Bobby and Leon are already stripped down to socks and boxers, no further clothing changes need to be made for them in preparation for the night other than Leon exchanging his binder for a loose _Knight Rider_ tee shirt that would come down to Elliot's knees. As for Elliot, he brought a loose pair of sweatpants and one of Leon's pullover hoodies.

In the privacy of Bobby's room, Leon can feel Elliot watching his bare back as he pulls the binder up over his head.

“Something’s eating at you, cuz. I can tell.”

“...I guess so.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He pulls the shirt down over his slim dark frame and turns to sit on the bed, fixing him with that soul-searching gaze. Sometimes Elliot tells him he swears he has some sort of telepathic gift. Maybe he's right, or maybe Elliot's just easier to read than most people.

Elliot hesitates, and Leon backtracks. “You don't have to.”

“No, I want to, I just...”

Leon waits.

“I just. I feel like something happened between all of us tonight. We weren't talking at dinner. I didn't like it.”

Now Leon hesitates. “Nothing wrong, cuz. I think Bobby is just a little in shock. It's been awhile since he could afford gifts and shit, you know?”

He knows, and he knows Leon definitely knows it all too well. “Mm.”

“Yeah?”

Elliot takes a deep breath. “I feel like an outsider sometimes. Like you and him go way back, and I'm intruding on it.”

Leon shakes his head, incredulous, and kisses Elliot firmly. “You worry too much, cuz. I love you, and I love Bobby. I have a big heart, see.” He squeezes Elliot's hands and pecks him on the forehead before going back out to the living room to set up their beds on the floor.

Huh.

*

They'd planned to have a _Seinfeld_ marathon until they fell asleep, but Leon is already three quarters of the way there, buried under three thick blankets with one arm around Elliot and the other around Bobby.

Bobby looks at Elliot, his perpetually sleepy green eyes now looking positively exhausted. He smiles through drooping eyelids and reaches for Elliot's hand over Leon's stomach, whispers a good night (and maybe thinks more).

On the edge of consciousness, he feels the warmth of Elliot's fingers between his and Leon's stomach beneath the heel of his palm, and he dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Paradise by Logic.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SfAKuZSzUU


	4. Just Imagine Us Combined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief references to self-harm, homelessness, suicide, and tobacco addiction.

When Leon wakes at exactly 8:30 the next morning, he finds the spaces between his ribs and arms empty on both sides and sits upright hazily. Did Bobby leave already? Did Elliot leave with him?

No, shut the fuck up. Leon didn't leave Bobby when he got addicted to tobacco at thirteen, or was homeless at seventeen, or when he called in the middle of the night at eighteen battling violent obsessions, or after they had sex for the first time that same year. Bobby didn't leave Leon when he was outed as transgender at fifteen, gay at sixteen, or attempted suicide at nineteen.

They have a sacred pact, written nowhere but in some telepathic letter neither is conscious exists, unbroken thus far and hoping it will stay that way.

Still, Leon feels a warm rush of relief in his gut when he makes his groggy way to the kitchenette and sees the bleary outline of Elliot sitting at the table in his overlarge gray hoodie, looking at Bobby frying eggs on the stove. Or rather, attempting.

Leon rubs his eyes and, vision cleared, approaches Bobby for a morning hug. Bobby shrieks with startled laughter and collapses, hands flapping loosely, landing ass-first on the tile floor and spine bracing hard against the counter. It’s spectacular, really.

“Ow,” he declares seriously before devolving into an unintelligible fit of giggles, his glasses askew and smudged with grease. Leon crouches down to his eye level and snickers. “How’s that for a wake-up call, my man?”

“Painful, to be honest.”

Leon watches Elliot’s black-socked feet approach much more cautiously. He bends down and takes Bobby’s hand, pulling him upright with a tentative smile.

Other than a red mark trailing down his bare back and a massively bruised ego, he’s unharmed.

“Bruh, what got you so giddy you can’t stand on ya own feet?”

Bobby’s still gripping Elliot’s hand, gazing at him with open affection. “Me and your boy getting real close.”

“How close?” Leon teases, beaming.

“We held hands over your stomach last night,” Elliot says matter-of-factly, shining eyes betraying the stoic mask. “The three of us, we make a good team, I think.”

Bobby pulls them both in for a group hug, eggs forgotten and charring on the stove, but he’s proud to reassure himself that finally, at thirty, he has plenty to spare. Leon’s skin and smile are so warm and Elliot’s hair so soft under his chin, his cool hand actually rubbing his back, and he feels like he’s a little kid again. But this time, no drugs, no scars or bruises or broken glasses or gunshots.

No pain.

Maybe he’s not a child  _ again. _

Maybe he’s been reborn.

“I think so too.”

*

They're laying sprawled carelessly on the couch, technically sober but punch-drunk with food in their stomachs and the ghosts of genuine affection lingering warm and soft on their skin.

Leon feels seventeen again, laying just breathing on top of Bobby like he did that night in the afterglow. But now Leon's hair is twisted into dreads, Bobby’s grown out into a golden cloud, and their much less happily gained scars are faded into little white lines.

And now they have layers of fabric and another love between their pulses, and no one’s talking about it.

Are they scared?

Leon's not scared.

Okay, maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But he knows if he keeps quiet they'll all dance around this thing between them for maybe years until it finally spills out with the contents of someone's stomach just before hangover.

So what can he do but speak up?

Nothing to lose.

“Hey, y'all, so I've been thinking...I like you both, a lot.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow, smirking. “I should think so.”

“No, I mean…” God, he's gonna sound so childish. “I mean, I like-like you. I want to try again.” He squeezes Bobby's hand. “But I still love you too, Elliot…and I know you love Bobby...I think that's what you were trying to tell me.”

Elliot nods. Bobby smiles at him tenderly.

“So what I'm saying is, how would - heh, shit - how would y'all like having two fucking boyfriends?” He laughs nervously at his own double entendre, and Bobby chuckles, deep and rich.

And then he's kissing Leon, and Leon is kissing back and his breath is hitching and suddenly he's seventeen, sitting on the corner of Bobby's bed, PlayStation forgotten.

Then, finally, finally, the unspoken pact about silence when it comes to feelings is ripped in three. Bobby’s smile is the brightest, sweetest one Elliot's ever seen besides Leon's as Bobby cups his face, asking, and presses into the kiss with an enthusiastic sigh. His lips are warm like Leon's, but chapped unlike his, and he loves the similarity and difference of it all. “I love you,” Bobby whispers, and Elliot melts.

“Give me some room, boy,” Leon says, giggling. He kisses Elliot, and it feels familiar, and then Bobby again, and that's new but also familiar. Nostalgic, maybe, but with a twist this time, like a reboot of a classic film.

Leon's snaking his hands down to Bobby's hips, thumbing just under his Supreme waistband, kissing his neck and collarbone. “You only in ya briefs right now...could fix that, if you want…”

Elliot tries unsuccessfully to stifle a groan.

Bobby snickers and Elliot blushes furiously.

“Sorry...you're just...really attractive.”

He leans over and kisses him soundly, harder. “It's okay. Me too. And uh...Leon?”

Leon stops toying with Bobby's waistband immediately. “Mm?”

“I would like, love to get back into this. Just maybe...not right now?”

Leon moves his big hands up to Bobby's shoulders instead, squeezing gently. “Aight.”

“I want you so much, baby. Now’s not the time, but soon.” He smiles. “And you too, El, if you want.”

“Really?”

“I think you forget you with us now too.”

“Come over for the last night of Hanukkah, B,” Leon murmurs against Bobby’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Peace. “Hell, Kwanzaa too. Gelt and ganja and gay shit.” He looks pleased with the alliteration, snaking his free arm around Elliot's waist and pulling him close, a tangled mess of limbs in various shades of brown. It feels right.

“Mmm.” Bobby hums, kissing Leon's jaw and Elliot's shoulder, or what he can reach laying in this position. “Sounds like a plan.”

They lay together in blissful silence for a while yet, the only sounds each other’s slow, steady breathing.

*

Leon certainly looks eager. He's wearing a white button-down with silver buttons, the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, and he’s made Elliot wear one of his blue hoodies instead of the standard black. Of course Elliot protested at first, gently shoving Leon's hands away, but he giggled as he pulled the hood over his head and kissed the top, and well, it's warm and big and smells like him. No complaints there.

Elliot now sits curled in Leon’s lap with his head against his chest, listening to the hypnotic sound of the dreidel spinning on the wooden coffee table, toppling onto its side, and then Leon picking it up with careful dark fingers and setting it off again. 

Leon’s a talker, yes, but he knows when and how to enjoy silence. Elliot’s seen it - sitting bare-chested and closed-eyed with his face to the setting sun over the balcony, thumbing over a crystal in each palm and one around his neck; at synagogue kneeling deep in prayer, teeth and tongue working in harmony, Ladino and Hebrew under his breath, and Elliot watching in awe; in mid-July midnight on a quiet Coney Island shore, holding his hand, pointing out constellations and the lore curling around his lips before Elliot kisses them.

(And that night, Leon’s knee between Elliot’s thighs, slowly undulating hips, lips against lips and skin, skin against skin, love, love, love. He smiles at the memory.)

Suddenly the warm wooden melody of the dreidel is percussionated with Bobby’s special knock at the door, designed to halt Elliot’s paranoia and anxiety in its tracks: three knocks, two slaps, and four stomps. Elliot hooks his legs securely around Leon’s waist so as not to slip out of his arms, and he answers the door beside him, maybe a foot higher than he would normally stand.

Bobby laughs at the sight, standing on his toes to peck Elliot’s lips, and then coming back down for Leon’s. “Hanukkah alegre, my dudes.”

Leon’s mother shows a short time later, cane in hand and smile ear to ear. Familiar with Elliot already, she greets him with a bear hug - and then she looks at Bobby and shakes her head fondly, pulling him in too.

“My, my, it’s been years,” she chuckles. “Somehow I knew y’all would find each other again. Welcome back to the family, boy. Last time I saw you, you was putting tar in your lungs ‘bout to drop out of school, thought to myself, ‘I really, really hope he make it okay.’ And you did, and here you are...praise Hashem…” She beams, and there, Elliot can see the resemblance: the smile, the nose, the big, kind dark eyes, the long dreadlocks down to both their midbacks. And here, their Jewishness and their blood.

*

Soon the kitchen is filled with laughter and the sweet smell of bimuelos in progress. Bobby sits with Leon’s mother and Elliot on the couch, one arm around each while Leon cooks, listens from behind the stove, occasionally adding his own anecdotes, relating to each other what they missed in the twelve year gap.

Leon’s mother, who struggled with chronic illness and addiction throughout her early stages of motherhood, often relied on her son and his school friend Bobby to care for her younger daughters; Bobby, who had only older siblings that were gone more than present, was more than happy. She recalls Friday evenings a six, ten, twelve, fourteen-year-old Bobby would come home with Leon sporting fresh bruises and a weary, crooked, but genuine smile and she’d patch him up before sending them off to play pretend with Leon’s sisters. It was like she had another son.

“Future son-in-law now, I’m sure,” she says wryly, poking his arm with a wink. “Arthritis only gotten worse over the years, Bobby, but I’m happier for sure. On all them medications to quit smoking like I’m sure you was, all kinds for pain, et cetera, you understand.” She waves an airy hand. “I do think it’s helping.”

“That’s good, ma’am,” Bobby says, kissing her cheek. She’s more his mama than his own ever was. “I’m very proud of you. Still watch Oprah?”

“Do you still play with that Rubik’s Cube?”

Bobby laughs. “Yes, ma’am.”

“There’s your answer, son. How about you, what have I missed?”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “The usual young adult crisis. Dropped out, was homeless for a little bit, got help after three years couch hopping, had a boyfriend and two girlfriends, didn’t work out, et cetera, you understand.” He winks. “I got a therapist now, I’ve been off Nikki for a year, and uh, I got my degree in music, and I’m almost done getting my teacher’s certification now. Gonna enlighten the next generation. Peace, love, positivity, you know?”

Leon’s mother beams and squeezes his arm. “I’m so proud of my boy.”

“Much appreciated.”

They eat, and then they play dreidel, and Bobby nearly has a meltdown when he loses all of his gelt to several  _ Shins _ in a row, and Leon gains them spinning a  _ Gimel _ immediately afterward. (Leon, however, is a good sport despite his teasing, and divides his winnings evenly between the two of them.)

*

Bobby and Elliot stand back, mesmerized, as Leon takes a deep breath with lighter in hand, syllables flowing smooth and warm as the dripping candle wax, low as the resulting ash. Elliot squeezes Bobby's hand as Leon begins the first blessing, then the second. 

When all nine candles are lit, he takes a step back, beaming like the surely winking buds of flame, kisses them each on the cheek, and plops onto the couch full of warm food and pride and love, one on each arm. They sit in peaceful near silence for a while apart from Leon attempting to teach them phrases in Ladino and Hebrew, and Bobby’s giggling when, having put out his joint in the ashtray on the coffee table, smoke flows billowing cheerfully from one mouth to the next, lips melding warm like wax. He presses a warm kiss to the crook of Elliot's neck, wrapping both of his boys in his arms and settling back over the arm of the couch with them sprawled over his chest.

“I love you motherfuckers,” Bobby chuckles, reaching over Leon to place his fogged-up glasses on the table and closing his blue eyes glowing golden green in the light.

“Shabbat Shalom, y'all,” Leon whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Love is Only a Feeling by Joey Bada$$.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93ufch_2mfw


	5. Take It Way Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for allusions to racial abuse, drug abuse, self-harm, and suicide, as well as a sex scene and use of alcohol.

As it had for years as a teenager, and like Hanukkah, Leon’s twenty-ninth Kwanzaa passes quietly by firelight - the flame of the dying sun under a blackening sky, rekindled and thriving atop proudly melting red, black, green candles, and embers carrying the sharp aroma of ganja, wrapped in rolling paper and the smoke kissed from mouth to mouth.

Elliot and Bobby listen contentedly as Leon and his mother tell stories about relatives in Jamaica and St. Lucia in broken Patois, drink the syllables clumsily from his lips in a kiss when he’s finished. It’s a strange revelation, witnessing the rebirth of something so beautiful left for dead, a phoenix rising from the ashes drifting in their lungs.

They all crowd themselves into Leon’s bed that night as usual - by now Leon has reacquainted himself enough with Bobby to be comfortable going without any kind of shirt, and so they lay tangled into a cocoon, bare shoulders pressed warm together; Elliot lays curled around Leon, who’s stroking the inside of Bobby’s hip with gentle fingers bent to the curve of his bones like a question, and even from the other side of the bed he can feel the warmth, the heat of Bobby’s answering smile as he turns and presses further into Leon’s hand with a shaky, eager breath.

*

May 2005. Leon graduated and Bobby watched in a  _ Seinfeld _ tee shirt, cigarette in regretful hand. The smell of smoke lingered on the blankets as he lit another that night, peering at his friend (friend?) on the other corner of the bed through the first drag, clenched it in his teeth and hit unpause.  _ Nikki, Nikki, where you been, wish I could quit you…  _ He blinked, shook himself irritably out of it with a slap to the wrist, pretending he could focus on anything, the Goombas and shells in his path, maybe, something, anything other than the pull of the nicotine or Leon’s big brown eyes.

Leon.

Oh God, Leon -

“You look like you seen a ghost, bro, you good?” He paused the game, looking at Bobby with such overwhelming concern he felt like crying. 

Here was Bobby, faded, fading away, a fucking useless dropout deadbeat with bruises and scars to show for it, mind racing, pacing a million miles a minute a second, and here in front of him was Leon, handsome, beautiful, brave Leon, his best friend, as hazy as everything else through the burning clouds of smoke and panic but he couldn’t  _ stop _ \- he heard a choked-off sob and realized it had come from him, covered his face in shame.

And then he was surrounded by Leon, who gently plucked the cigarette from his trembling, unresisting fingers, threw it away and held him close, thumbing his burning wet face dry with blissfully cool hands and pressing their foreheads together. Wrapped him in his arms, in his lap, and whispered a prayer against his neck to the rhythm of their swaying and Bobby’s shuddering, gradually calming breaths.

They sat in aching silence for a few minutes, and then -

“Wanna tell me what happened, baby boy?”

Leon nicknamed Bobby as such a year after they met in first grade: the Brooklyn-born-and-bred and the new kid from Maryland. He was seven years old, older than Leon, as is often important to children, but he was so small and skinny and his eyes too big and bright for his face that Leon thought it more fitting that he should be in preschool, or even just a baby. He found it condescending then, but now at eighteen he wanted nothing more than to be reborn - not to know what the n word meant or why his white mother called him it while she slapped him, why she called his father the same thing, a good-for-nothing absent coward, not to go outside or he would turn dark like him, and why while he finally tried to take pride in his Black roots the other children at school called him a cracker - or better yet, for it never to have happened at all.

For him never to have been born at all, maybe. Maybe it would’ve been easier for her that way.

How would he explain what Leon already knew? How would he not bore him or scare him off?

_ I’ve been feeling under pressure. _

He coughed, mustering barely enough energy to choke out an answer, and his head throbbed with the exertion, trying his best to look unperturbed. “Ah, you know, the usual. Flashback, obsessions, anxiety attack. Nothing I can’t handle, bro, you ain’t gotta -”

“I  _ want _ to help.” He nuzzled into Bobby’s shoulder, looking at him in a way that said  _ whatever you need to do is okay. I won’t judge. _

So Bobby leaned forward, cupped his face, and kissed him.

It was Bobby’s first; that much was obvious to them both - his teeth kept bumping against Leon’s because he couldn’t stop smiling, and he couldn’t get the angle quite right.

Leon, on the other hand -  _ clearly, _ this was not his first. Bobby sighed as Leon pressed into the kiss and tilted his chin up, pulled him closer, a warm sensation of lips and tongues and skin coming together like fate and  _ fuck _ it felt so good - no sooner than he registered his arousal did Bobby’s hips twitch involuntarily once, twice into Leon’s and he came with a groan, fully clothed, like the teenager he was.

He pulled away dizzily with a satisfying smack and rested his head on Leon’s shoulder, trying to regain his bearings. And Leon waited patiently because of course he fucking did and when he finally spoke his words reverberated warm throughout his body.

They were Black and beautiful, and broken but healing, and would come back even better with the hard work put in, ceramic sealed with gold glowing like the sun, or Leon’s smile.

“Damn, if I kiss that good on the first try, just imagine what could happen if...well, that depends. Uh, I know we ain’t got a ton of time anymore, but how would you like to do that again? Like, we was a thing before, but -“

“I’d love to,” Bobby said, kissing Leon’s jaw, and smiled when Leon’s hand skirted teasingly over the inside of his thigh.

*

Leon’s slicked hand is there now, over his bare inner thigh, and moving slowly upward, and he hears Elliot shift behind Leon, get up and come around to Leon’s other side. He situates himself in front of Bobby and leans forward to claim his lips as Leon continues to touch him, a slow, sweet burn coursing down to his bones.

Bobby whimpers desperately, closing his eyes to the warm green glow of Elliot’s.

“Mm?”

“Please, Leon -  _ oh _ yes,” he groans as Leon squeezes him gently, still at that burning glacial pace. He lets his breath release in a long hiss as the hand between his thighs moves faster, tipping his head back and Elliot surges forward, chasing his lips. Leon alone was good, but this - this - being so completely surrounded by love and care and  _ touch _ feels so fucking good, a giggling Leon has to shush him lest his mother overhear and interrupt.

He doesn’t last long after that, coming into Leon’s hand with a whispered “fuck”, and then he works with the other two to satisfy them as well. He feels warm, inside and out, and falls asleep with one knee between each of their relaxed thighs and their faces pressed together, as if they tried and failed to kiss all at once, and drifted off still smiling giddily.

*

Bobby wakes first on the morning of New Year’s Eve to Leon’s mother standing over him with a furtive, knowing smile, shaking Leon’s bottle of Abilify with a raised eyebrow. Bobby starts, working frantically to cover his exposed bare hips with the sheets, but it’s already too late.

She just chuckles, like always, like she did when he insisted on staying up all night at eight years old to marathon  _ Star Wars, _ or when he came home (home!) at eleven with a skinned knee, a bruised jaw, and a missing-toothed, proud smile because he’d fought someone who called Leon a retarded she-he, and won. “Don’t think I didn’t know what y’all was doing last night, li’l Bobby. l may be old but I’m not deaf…” She laughs at Bobby’s mortified expression and winks. “It’s okay. Shit, I knew there was no way Leon’d be a virgin with my handsome features, and y’all are thirty or near it, grown men. It’s fine. Just as long as you’re safe?”

Bobby nods.

“Well, I won’t keep you longer, it’s just Leon forgot his pill. Give it to him when he wakes, hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s my boy.” She smiles as Bobby lays back against Leon’s bare chest and pulls Elliot in close, yawning.

The end of the year, and the beginning of the day, is hazy and peaceful and silent and warm when you’re minus glasses and clothes and surrounded by your lovers, and he’d be content to just lay here for a while until someone stirring or breakfast frying rouses him.

Most of the day passes rather uneventfully (as much as international holidays can, anyway). After breakfast, Leon watches intently as Bobby and Elliot play chess, and holds one of each of their hands under the table; Elliot lets Bobby win four times out of five to avoid a meltdown, but he’s pretty decent nonetheless. Elliot spends the early afternoon between Leon and Bobby’s legs - sitting lazily back against their chests with a joint dangling idle between his fingertips as they pass rhymes back and forth, easily as Bobby plucks the joint from Elliot’s hand and shotguns him, then Leon with a giggle. Them being the more musically inclined autistics of the three, Elliot is so inclined to be amazed at how seamlessly they bounce off each other, perfectly in sync as Bobby taps his foot and Leon bobs his head to the jazzy beat, dreads flying, big hands gesturing emphatically, and they stop every so often to plant chaste kisses on each other’s lips.

“Yeah, we are alive, it's the best feeling/I can't describe, it's just the way I'm wheeling and I'm dealing/And you see it, man I got it, through the roof, it's through the ceiling/It's one hell of a feeling for your teeth and Dr. Phillin’ -”

“Up through the ceiling, it's a feeling, and I'm comin' rippin' rhymes/The second I spit it, I got it, I rip it all the time/It’s me and Elli and Leon/that's how we get down/You know east side, we get down/Especially when we rollin' through your town -”

“You say that's how we get down/Check the app, Bandsintown/We comin' around/And we got this shit surround sound/We gotta push it down/And we takin' the crowns/We gotta get it, it's the kings of the underground -”

“Ayo, we goin' bar for bar, that's par for par/Everybody know who we are when we step up in the bar -”

“And you know, star to star/We got battle scars/And we been through this before, man/We prayin' to the lords -”

“Yeah, that's true, when I come through/In a second, what it do?/And this is how we rockin' though, this is how I'm feeling/Higher than the ceiling -”

“Yeah, you off the scotch and I'm off the wine/We livin' life, we just tryna find/Anything that be divine/I roll the light and you know I got it in mind/Brother, put a fight…”

Bobby takes a shot and leans in to drink whatever line Leon was forming in a sloppy, smiling kiss. “Ay, bruh, that’s fucking lit…” He screeches with laughter as Leon kisses and nips playfully at his neck, leaving a faint red hickey there, like the drink that stains his lips. Elliot shifts in Bobby’s lap and cranes his neck back to kiss him. They’re so intoxicating and intoxicated and they’re all higher than kites and they’ll regret it come tomorrow morning but hey, it’s New Years.

*

They’re sprawled as usual on the couch from dinner until eleven thirty, slowly coming down from the high they got from sharing smoke. Not so much with space. Bobby teases at Leon’s thigh, drawing light circles on his skin with a long finger, and laughs loudly when he receives a playful slap to the hand, but Elliot gets no such reaction. “Unfair, bro.”

“Bitch, you just came back in the picture.”

Bobby smirks. “But I came in you first.”

“True.” Leon snorts and Elliot blushes. “It don’t matter now, we all get our share of everyone.” He leans over and kisses them each on the cheek with a loud smack. “How ‘bout those resolutions, y’all?”

Bobby hums. “The usual. Stay clean, maybe help Elli now with that too, if you want, El?”

Elliot nods, and Bobby smiles. “Good. I’m proud of you, man. Think I could make a living with music? I’m just about finished with all the qualifications.”

“Most definitely, Young Sinatra.” Leon smiles and kisses him. “Bobby used to sing us to sleep when one of us was having them nightmares. Beautiful voice, baby boy.” He’s trailing soft kisses up and down his neck and stopping to mouth affectionately at his collarbone. “Just like the rest of you.”

“Don’t take anything off ‘til after midnight,” Bobby teases. “That reminds me. I have lovers to please now, and I certainly intend to keep that resolution too.” He squeezes their hips gently. “You, Leon?”

“Practice meditation more regularly, it does wonders for stress. Keep y’all safe, love you with all my heart, just wing it. You know how it be.”

“Mine is honestly just to live,” Elliot admits, flushing, and Bobby nods sagely.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with that, man. Me and Leon, we’ve talked each other down. It’s enough to just be. We love you enough when you can’t love yourself, hear?”

Elliot says nothing, just leans in to kiss him. His lips are sweet and soft with weed and scotch, and he’s never felt so loved and full of love.

“We’ll always have faith in you. Always be rooting for you.”

Leon pulls them both to their feet ten seconds to midnight and dips them for the kiss, laughing as they fall to the floor and pull him with them, crushing their lips and teeth together in a clumsy, perfect three-way kiss.

“That’s my line!”

“Like you said, baby.” Bobby nips at Leon’s jaw gently. “We all get our share of everybody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Take It Back by Logic.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wH4kzAb4l0E
> 
> The lyrics used in this chapter and for the work title, with minor changes, come from this freestyle by Logic and Joey Bada$$: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zLaQn0tO8A
> 
> Additional songs referenced throughout the work include the following: Christ Conscious by Joey Bada$$, as well as Flexicution, Soul Food, Under Pressure, Fade Away, Nikki, and Lord Willin' by Logic. Bonus points if you can tell me where these references are in the comments!
> 
> Thank you as always to my friends, especially PJ @fruit-lesbian, for your invaluable ideas and advice, and to everyone who reads and leaves comments and/or kudos. I love you all. PLP!


End file.
